By morning, the estate looked untouched.

The shattered window had been replaced.

The blood had been cleaned.

The bullet holes sealed and painted over.

As if violence could be edited out like a public relations mistake.

Eleanor Whitmore stood in the hallway outside Sebastian's private study and understood something with chilling clarity:

This was not the first time someone had tried to kill him.

And it would not be the last.

Inside the study, voices were low but tense.

"Trajectory confirms the shooter was positioned beyond the tree line," a man said.

Ellie recognized him. Marcus Hale, head of security. Former military. Efficient. Loyal.

Or at least he appeared that way.

"The angle suggests they knew which room you were in," Marcus continued.

A beat of silence followed.

Which meant one thing.

Inside information.

Ellie stepped into the room.

Sebastian stood near the fireplace, one hand in his pocket, expression unreadable.

He looked composed.

Too composed.

"Was anyone detained?" she asked.

Marcus glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to Sebastian.

"No, ma'am. The shooter was gone within ninety seconds."

"Professional," Sebastian said calmly.

Marcus nodded.

"Very."

Ellie folded her arms.

"Then we assume someone here told them where to aim."

The room went still.

Marcus's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

"Are you suggesting internal compromise?" he asked carefully.

"I'm suggesting," Ellie replied coolly, "that snipers don't guess which window to shoot."

Sebastian's gaze flicked between them.

Thoughtful.

Measured.

"Run a full internal audit," he instructed Marcus. "Discreetly."

Marcus hesitated a fraction of a second too long.

"Yes, sir."

When he left, the silence felt heavier.

"You suspect him," Sebastian observed.

"I suspect everyone."

A faint approval flickered in his eyes.

"You're adapting quickly."

"I prefer being alive."

He stepped closer, studying her.

"You didn't panic last night."

"I was busy not dying."

"That isn't what I meant."

His gaze softened slightly.

"You didn't run."

Her chest tightened.

"I told you," she said quietly. "I don't."

A moment passed between them.

Charged.

Unspoken.

He reached out before he seemed to realize he was doing it.

His fingers brushed lightly against her wrist.

Testing.

Asking.

She didn't pull away.

Not this time.

"You should move into my wing," he said quietly.

Her pulse jumped.

"That wasn't part of the agreement."

"Security protocol has changed."

"So has proximity."

His thumb shifted slightly against her skin.

The contact was minimal.

But deliberate.

"You think I can't control myself?" he asked softly.

The air thickened.

"I think," she replied carefully, "that lines blur when people almost die together."

A pause.

His jaw tightened, not in anger.

In restraint.

"You will have your own bedroom," he said evenly. "Attached to mine. Private access corridor. Increased surveillance."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I double security around your current room and accept the vulnerability."

Vulnerability.

The word hung there.

He was offering protection.

But he was also offering closeness.

And that was far more dangerous.

"I'll move," she said finally.

Relief flickered through his eyes, quickly masked.

"Good."

By noon, the media had shifted focus.

Attempted assassination.

Anonymous sources.

Speculation.

Damien Rhodes held a press interview outside his own Manhattan tower.

Ellie watched it from the estate's media room.

"Violence has no place in corporate disagreement," Damien said solemnly to reporters. "My thoughts are with Mr. Calloway and his fiancée."

His fiancée.

The word still felt foreign.

Damien continued, "I hope this incident does not distract from necessary leadership conversations at Calloway Industries."

Necessary leadership conversations.

Translation: board vote still happening.

Sebastian stood beside her, silent.

"He's accelerating the timeline," Ellie said.

"Yes."

"He benefits from chaos."

"Yes."

She turned to face him.

"Why haven't you removed him from the board?"

"Because removing him without evidence would fracture investor confidence."

"So you're playing chess."

"I always am."

"And he just knocked over a piece."

His gaze darkened.

"Yes."

Her phone buzzed.

This time it was Oliver.

She stepped into the hallway to answer.

"Ellie, what the hell is happening?" Oliver demanded immediately.

"You've seen the news."

"I've seen everything. Engagement. Assassination attempt. Are you out of your mind?"

"Possibly."

"Tell me you're not emotionally involved."

She hesitated.

Too long.

"Ellie."

"It's strategic," she said carefully.

"Strategic doesn't bleed."

Her chest tightened.

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"I can handle this."

A pause.

"Just remember who you were before him," Oliver said quietly.

The call ended.

She stood there longer than necessary.

Who was she before him?

Certain.

Detached.

Safe.

Inside the bedroom wing, her belongings had already been relocated.

Efficient.

Seamless.

The new room was elegant but less personal than the one she had occupied.

Through a private door, she could see the entrance to Sebastian's suite.

Too close.

Too intimate.

She stepped inside her new room and closed the door firmly.

Breathing in.

Breathing out.

This was still a contract.

Still controlled.

Still temporary.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

She opened the door.

Sebastian stood there, jacket removed, sleeves rolled again.

There was something restless about him tonight.

"The board has moved the vote to Friday," he said.

"That's three days."

"Yes."

"Damien pushed it."

"Yes."

She studied his face.

"You expected this."

"I anticipated escalation."

"And the shooting?"

A flicker of something dark crossed his expression.

"That was meant to destabilize me."

"Did it?"

He looked at her.

"No."

The honesty in his voice unsettled her.

"Are you ever afraid?" she asked suddenly.

A long silence.

"Of losing control," he admitted quietly. "Yes."

She stepped closer without realizing.

"You didn't lose control last night."

"I almost did."

Her breath hitched.

"Because of the shooter?"

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips.

"No."

The word felt heavier than it should have.

Silence wrapped around them.

Thick.

Electric.

"If this becomes personal," she whispered, "we both lose objectivity."

"Yes."

"And if it already is?"

His restraint snapped just slightly.

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

The touch was slow.

Intentional.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

She should have.

She didn't.

The space between them dissolved.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

But close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin.

A loud crash echoed from downstairs.

Both of them froze.

Voices shouted.

Running footsteps.

Sebastian pulled away instantly.

Control restored.

"Stay here," he ordered.

"I'm not staying anywhere."

He didn't argue this time.

They moved quickly down the hallway.

Marcus stood in the foyer, holding a tablet.

"There's been a breach in the security system," he said.

Sebastian's eyes hardened.

"External?"

Marcus hesitated.

"No, sir."

Ellie's stomach dropped.

"Internal override," Marcus finished.

Silence.

Deadly silence.

"Who has access to override codes?" Sebastian asked calmly.

"Only three people," Marcus replied.

"Yourself. Me. And..."

He stopped.

"And?" Ellie pressed.

Marcus's gaze shifted toward Sebastian.

"Your late fiancée had emergency clearance," he finished.

The implication hung in the air.

"She's dead," Ellie said carefully.

"Yes."

Marcus swallowed.

"But her access was never fully revoked."

Sebastian's expression changed.

Not fear.

Something colder.

"Meaning someone has been using Lydia's credentials," Ellie whispered.

"Yes," Marcus confirmed.

Which meant...

Whoever killed Lydia.

Was inside the system.

Inside the company.

Inside the war.

Sebastian's jaw tightened.

"Trace the override," he ordered.

"We're trying," Marcus said. "But whoever did it knew exactly which logs to erase."

Professional.

Strategic.

Personal.

Ellie felt the pieces clicking into place.

"Damien," she said quietly.

Sebastian didn't respond.

But his silence was agreement.

Suddenly, the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then the estate went completely dark.

For one suspended second, there was nothing but silence.

Then...

The emergency generators failed.

Pitch black.

Ellie felt Sebastian's hand find hers instantly.

Firm.

Protective.

Not strategic.

Instinctive.

"Stay close," he murmured.

In the darkness, she could hear it.

Footsteps.

Not security.

Not Marcus.

Different.

Measured.

Inside the house.

Someone had breached the perimeter.

And this time,

They hadn't come from a distance.

They were already within the walls.

Darkness swallowed the estate whole.

Not dim.

Not shadowed.

Absolute.

The kind of darkness that makes your heartbeat sound louder than it should.

Eleanor Whitmore felt Sebastian's hand close firmly around hers.

Warm. Steady. Controlled.

But tight. Very tight.

"Stay behind me," he murmured.

Footsteps echoed from the lower corridor.

Slow. Measured.

Not running.

Whoever it was didn't feel rushed. They felt confident.

A chill moved down Ellie's spine.

Sebastian shifted slightly, positioning himself between her and the sound.

"You're unarmed," she whispered.

"I'm not," he replied quietly.

There was a subtle metallic click in the darkness.

Her pulse spiked.

"Since when do you carry a gun inside your own house?"

"Since someone tried to shoot you through a window."

The footsteps grew closer. A door creaked open somewhere to their left.

Glass crunched under a boot.

Ellie's mind raced.

If the generators were down, security cameras were down.

Which meant whoever entered knew exactly when to move.

Internal override. Lydia's credentials.

Someone inside.

Sebastian leaned toward her ear.

"If anything happens, run toward the east wing exit. There's a panic room behind the wine cellar."

"You think I'm leaving you?"

"Yes."

"No."

The whisper came out sharper than she intended.

A shadow moved at the end of the hallway.

Sebastian raised the gun.

"Stop," he commanded, voice lethal.

The shadow didn't stop.

It lunged.

A body collided with Sebastian.

The gun discharged.

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

Ellie stumbled back as two men crashed into a console table.

The attacker was masked, dressed in black tactical gear.

Professional.

Prepared.

The gun skidded across the marble floor.

Sebastian drove his shoulder into the man's torso, forcing him against the wall.

The attacker swung hard.

Sebastian absorbed the blow but retaliated instantly, striking the man's ribs with controlled precision.

Not reckless. Trained.

Ellie's breath caught.

This wasn't corporate elegance.

This was survival instinct.

The attacker reached for something at his belt...

Knife.

Ellie reacted without thinking.

She grabbed the nearest object, a heavy brass sculpture, and swung.

It connected with the attacker's shoulder.

He staggered.

Sebastian seized the opening, twisting the man's wrist until the knife clattered to the floor.

A second later, security flooded the corridor.

Flashlights blinded the scene.

Marcus appeared, weapon drawn.

"Stand down!" he barked.

The attacker froze.

Pinned.

Restrained.

Lights flickered back to life in sections.

Emergency power restored.

Ellie's chest rose and fell rapidly.

Sebastian stood upright slowly.

Breathing controlled.

But his eyes...

His eyes were furious.

Not shaken. Furious.

Marcus secured the intruder, ripping off the mask.

Ellie expected to see a stranger.

Instead...

She saw someone she recognized from earlier that morning.

One of the estate's junior security technicians.

The man who had quietly recalibrated the cameras after the shooting.

Her stomach dropped.

"Internal audit," she whispered.

Marcus went pale.

"I'll handle this," he said quickly.

Sebastian didn't respond.

He was staring at the technician with something colder than rage.

"You were given clearance two months ago," Sebastian said evenly.

The technician swallowed.

"I... needed the money."

"From who?" Ellie demanded.

Silence.

Marcus pressed the man harder against the wall.

"From who?" he repeated.

The technician hesitated.

Then spoke.

"Rhodes."

The name landed like a detonated charge.

Damien Rhodes.

Ellie felt Sebastian go very still beside her.

Too still.

"Proof," Sebastian said calmly.

The technician shook his head.

"It was anonymous transfers... offshore accounts. I never met him directly."

Smart.

Layered.

Untraceable.

Damien had kept his hands clean.

Marcus dragged the man away.

"I'll interrogate him," he said.

Sebastian nodded once.

Then the corridor emptied.

Silence returned.

But it wasn't the same silence as before.

This one was heavy.

Aftermath.

Ellie turned slowly toward Sebastian.

"You were right."

"Yes."

"You're being hunted."

"Yes."

"And Damien is escalating."

"Yes."

Each answer clipped.

Controlled.

But she could see it now.

The tremor in his hands.

He hid it quickly, but not before she noticed.

"You're shaking," she said softly.

"I'm not."

"You are."

He looked down at his hands.

They stilled immediately.

"Adrenaline," he dismissed.

She stepped closer.

Closer than strategy required.

"You could have been stabbed."

"So could you."

"You told me to run."

"Yes."

"And you expected me to."

"Yes."

She searched his face.

"You would have died protecting me."

He didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

The simplicity of the answer cracked something open inside her.

"This was supposed to be a contract," she whispered.

"It still is."

But his voice lacked conviction.

She reached for him before she could overthink it.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist.

Warm skin.

Steady pulse.

"You don't get to pretend this is just business anymore."

His jaw tightened.

"You think I don't know that?"

The tension between them thickened.

"You're not the only one at risk," she continued. "If Damien is willing to send someone into your house, what happens next?"

His eyes darkened.

"He won't stop."

"Then we don't either."

Silence stretched.

His gaze drifted to her lips again.

This time he didn't look away immediately.

"You should hate me for pulling you into this," he said quietly.

"I don't."

"You might."

"I won't."

"How can you be certain?"

She stepped even closer.

Close enough that her breath brushed his collarbone.

"Because you didn't hesitate," she said softly. "You didn't think. You didn't calculate."

His pulse jumped under her fingers.

"You reacted."

"For you."

The admission hovered there.

Raw. Dangerous.

Her heart pounded.

This was the line.

The one they had both promised not to cross.

"You said this wouldn't become complicated," she murmured.

"I was wrong."

The honesty felt like heat.

His hand rose slowly.

Gave her time to stop him.

She didn't.

His fingers brushed her cheek.

Gentle. Careful.

Like she was something breakable.

She had never felt breakable before.

"You're not replaceable," he said quietly.

Her breath caught.

The message earlier.

Wives are replaceable.

He had read it too.

And it had angered him.

Not because it threatened optics.

Because it threatened her.

The realization hit her hard.

"You care," she whispered.

His restraint finally fractured.

"Yes."

The word was barely audible.

And then...

He kissed her.

Not aggressively.

Not desperately.

But deliberately.

Slow.

Controlled.

As if he were memorizing the moment.

Her fingers tightened against his shirt instinctively.

The world narrowed to warmth and breath, and the faint metallic scent of adrenaline still lingering in the air.

It wasn't the kind of kiss that erased fear.

It was the kind that acknowledged it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers.

"We shouldn't," he said.

"No," she agreed softly.

But neither of them stepped away.

Footsteps echoed again in the distance.

Security clearing rooms.

Reality returning.

Sebastian exhaled slowly.

"This changes nothing," he said.

"It changes everything."

Their eyes met.

And for the first time...

There was no pretending this was strategy.

It was attachment.

Dangerous.

Unplanned.

Real.

A phone buzzed sharply in the hallway.

Sebastian stepped back reluctantly and retrieved it from the console table.

He glanced at the screen.

His expression darkened.

"It's Damien," he said.

Ellie's stomach tightened.

"Answer it."

Sebastian put the call on speaker.

"Calloway," he said coolly.

Damien's voice flowed through the line.

Smooth. Amused.

"I heard about the unfortunate incident," Damien said. "Security breaches are so... embarrassing."

Ellie's blood ran cold.

"You're bold," Sebastian replied evenly.

"I'm confident."

A pause.

"I assume you've discovered your internal problem."

Sebastian's eyes flicked to Ellie briefly.

"Yes."

"Good," Damien continued lightly. "Consider this a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"That power shifts quickly."

Silence thickened.

"You should withdraw from the board vote," Damien said.

"No."

A soft chuckle echoed through the speaker.

"Then I hope your fiancée sleeps lightly."

The call ended.

The threat hung in the air.

Ellie felt it in her bones.

"He's not even hiding anymore," she whispered.

"No," Sebastian agreed quietly.

"He thinks he's already won."

Outside, sirens approached again.

Law enforcement responding late to an already-handled breach.

Sebastian looked at her with something new in his eyes.

Not just determination.

Not just anger.

War.

"This is no longer about corporate control," he said.

"It never was," she replied.

He stepped closer again.

Not to kiss her.

But to anchor her.

"We end this," he said softly.

"How?"

His jaw tightened.

"By proving Lydia wasn't an accident."

"And if Damien really is responsible?"

His eyes turned glacial.

"Then I won't just remove him from the board."

The implication was clear.

Ellie felt the weight of what they were stepping into.

This wasn't just survival anymore. This was retaliation.

And as she looked at the man she had once intended to expose...

She realized something terrifying.

She wasn't afraid of losing him.

She was afraid of what he might become if they won.

Outside, thunder rolled across the darkened sky.

Inside the estate, the war had officially crossed a line.

And there would be no returning to who they were before the lights went out.

The rain did not stop.

It battered the windows of Sebastian's London townhouse as though the city itself were trying to break in.

Eleanor had not slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the chandelier falling.

Saw the split second where death had chosen mercy instead of impact. Saw the masked figure slipping through the ballroom doors.

And she saw Sebastian's face, not shocked.

Not afraid.

Calculating.

She stood barefoot in the kitchen at three in the morning, staring at nothing, when she felt him before she heard him.

"You're not good at pretending to be fine."

His voice was rough with lack of sleep.

She turned slowly.

Sebastian stood at the doorway in a dark sweater and tailored trousers, hair slightly disheveled. The polished billionaire mask was gone. This was the man beneath the empire.

"You weren't asleep either," she said quietly.

He gave a faint, humorless smile. "I don't sleep when someone tries to kill my fiancée."

The word "fiancée" did something to her chest.

She wrapped her arms around herself. "This is because of you."

He didn't deny it.

"That's not the same as saying I caused it."

"But it follows you."

"Yes."

The honesty startled her.

Sebastian stepped closer, slow and deliberate, as if approaching something fragile.

"This world is not safe, Eleanor. It never has been."

"I didn't sign up for this," she whispered.

"No." His voice softened. "You signed up for a contract. Not a war."

The rain intensified.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she asked the question that had been growing like poison inside her.

"Who would want you dead?"

Sebastian's eyes darkened.

"There are competitors," he said evenly.

"Old rivals. Men who lose gracefully in public and plot viciously in private."

"Like Damien Rhodes?"

A pause.

Too long.

Sebastian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Damien is ambitious," he said carefully. "But he is not reckless."

"That's not what I asked."

His gaze sharpened.

"You're investigating me again."

She straightened. "You don't get to switch off my instincts just because we share a bed."

Silence crackled between them.

He moved closer still. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him.

"You think I'm hiding something."

"You are."

A beat.

"Yes," he said.

Her breath caught.

"But not what you think."

He reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The gesture was gentle, almost reverent.

"There are layers to my life you do not yet understand," he murmured. "And I would rather you hate me for secrecy than be harmed by knowledge."

"That's not your choice to make."

"It is if it keeps you alive."

The intensity in his eyes unsettled her.

And yet...

There was something else there.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For her.

The realization hit her like a second falling chandelier.

"You're not worried about your reputation," she said softly. "You're worried about me."

Sebastian didn't answer.

But his hand slid from her hair to the back of her neck, pulling her gently forward.

Their foreheads touched.

The moment was electric.

"You are the one variable I did not anticipate," he whispered.

Her heart stuttered.

"And I don't like unpredictability."

"Then you should have chosen someone simpler."

"I did."

His thumb brushed the curve of her jaw.

"You were supposed to be strategic, controlled, and temporary."

"And now?"

His gaze dropped to her lips.

"Now you are none of those things."

The kiss was slow.

Not desperate.

Not frantic.

But heavy with everything unsaid.

His hands settled at her waist, grounding and possessive.

She felt it then, the shift.

This was no longer a performance.

No longer staged affection.

This was dangerous in an entirely different way.

When they pulled apart, her voice trembled.

"If someone wants you dead, they'll come again."

"Yes."

"And if I'm with you..."

"They will use you."

The words landed brutally.

Her stomach twisted.

"And you still want this marriage?" she asked.

"I want you safe."

"That's not what I asked."

He held her gaze.

"Yes."

The answer was immediate.

Certain.

Something inside her gave way.

But before she could respond,

A sharp sound shattered the moment.

Glass.

Breaking.

Sebastian's head snapped toward the window.

Eleanor barely had time to process the movement before Sebastian grabbed her and pulled her down to the floor.

A gunshot cracked through the townhouse.

The window behind them exploded inward.

Her ears rang.

"Stay down," he ordered.

Another shot.

Sebastian rolled, shielding her with his body as fragments of glass scattered across the marble tiles.

Security alarms blared.

Footsteps thundered outside.

She could hear shouting, Sebastian's security team mobilizing.

But the shooter was fast.

By the time the guards reached the street, the car was gone.

Sebastian remained over her for a long second after the silence returned.

His breathing was controlled.

Too controlled.

"You weren't supposed to be here tonight," he said quietly.

"What?"

"The townhouse was not on my public schedule."

Cold realization crept through her.

"Someone knew."

"Yes."

He helped her up slowly, checking her arms, her shoulders, her face as if expecting to find blood.

"I'm fine," she whispered.

His hands didn't stop moving.

His control was slipping.

And she saw it clearly now.

This wasn't random.

This wasn't intimidation.

This was targeted.

"Sebastian," she said carefully. "If this isn't Damien..."

His expression hardened.

"There are very few people with this level of access."

"And one of them is inside your company."

The implication hung heavy between them.

Betrayal.

Sebastian walked to the shattered window, staring into the rain-soaked street.

His voice, when he spoke, was colder than she had ever heard it.

"They just escalated this."

Later That Night

Security insisted Eleanor move to Sebastian's private estate outside the city.

A fortress disguised as elegance.

High gates.

Armed patrol.

Impenetrable surveillance.

She stood in the grand bedroom overlooking acres of darkness, feeling like a queen trapped in a castle.

Sebastian entered quietly.

"You'll be safer here."

"Will I?"

"Yes."

She turned toward him.

"You didn't look surprised tonight."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"You think I expected it?"

"I think you're ten steps ahead of something I can't see."

A pause.

He walked toward her slowly.

"There are business negotiations happening," he admitted. "High-stakes ones."

"With?"

"I can't tell you yet."

Frustration burned in her chest.

"You keep saying that."

"Because if you know, you become leverage."

"And I'm not already?"

That stopped him.

She stepped closer.

"You think hiding things protects me," she said quietly.

"But it just makes me more vulnerable."

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then he did something unexpected.

He reached into his jacket and removed a small encrypted phone.

"If anything happens to me," he said, placing it in her hand, "call the number saved as 'Atlas.'"

Her heart skipped.

"What is this?"

"Insurance."

"For what?"

"For the truth."

The weight of it felt heavier than the device itself.

"You trust me with this?"

"I trust no one else."

The admission vibrated between them.

She searched his face.

"You're not just fighting competitors," she said softly.

"No."

"Then what are you fighting?"

His jaw tightened.

"A man who believes he built this empire."

Her pulse quickened.

"But you built it."

"I inherited parts of it."

"And the rest?"

"I took."

There it was.

The darkness.

The edge she had sensed from the beginning.

He wasn't just a billionaire.

He was a man who had fought for power.

And someone wanted it back.

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

"Is this about your father?"

Sebastian's expression froze.

Silence.

Confirmation enough.

A flicker of something raw crossed his face: grief, anger, unfinished history.

"They're not just attacking your company," she realized.

"No."

"They're attacking your legacy."

He stepped closer, eyes intense.

"And now they're attacking you."

The air between them thickened.

She could feel the walls closing in.

The stakes rising.

"This was supposed to be temporary," she whispered.

"I know."

"But if this war is personal..."

"It is."

"Then I'm already involved."

"Yes."

The honesty was brutal.

Her pulse thundered.

"Then stop treating me like a bystander."

Something shifted in his eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached for her hand.

"You don't know what that means."

"Then show me."

For a long moment, he simply looked at her.

As if weighing her strength.

Her resolve.

Her worth.

Then he leaned down and kissed her, not gently this time.

It was fierce.

Claiming.

Almost desperate.

His hands gripped her waist as though anchoring himself.

When he pulled back, his voice was low.

"If you stay," he said, "there is no leaving halfway."

Her heart pounded.

"And if I go?"

His gaze darkened.

"I will not let you."

The possessiveness should have frightened her.

Instead, it thrilled her.

Outside, thunder cracked across the estate grounds.

Inside, something irreversible began.

But far beyond the estate gates...

A car idled in the darkness.

And inside it, a man watched the lit bedroom window through binoculars.

He lowered them slowly.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Phase two," he murmured.

And for the first time,

The war truly began.